AUTUMN’S LAST BREW (Postcard Poetry)

September is at the end of an evening

sitting on a stool at the neighborhood bar,

The shutdown of nature’s grill,

Chlorophyll scrubbed off leaves,

Yellow, red, and orange residue left behind.

Last call for insects, birds, and butterflies to down their dregs.

Taps closed.

Bottletops screwed shut.

Cabs called for migratory patrons who stayed too long.

Neon lights whisper sweet nothings to the night.

October, as bartender, flips the open sign to closed,

Signalling an end to summer’s night out.

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